


A little kindness

by rthecynic



Series: Musketeers March 2021 [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Musketeer March 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:01:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29801925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthecynic/pseuds/rthecynic
Summary: Musketeer March 2021Day 2 - ColdPorthos remembers his life before joining the Musketeers.
Series: Musketeers March 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189187
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	A little kindness

Paris is always so cold in the winter, and Porthos knows this better than anyone.

As he walks through the streets that he used to call home, he remembers the nights that he spent, huddled close to his mother in a futile search for warmth. He remembers the draughty huts that afforded barely any protection from the elements, the threadbare blankets – half eaten by moths – that they had pulled tight around their shoulders to fight off the chill. He remembers the night that the snow came, the night that his mother fell ill. He remembers how she had shivered, despite the fire that he had made and the warm blankets that he had purchased with stolen coin. He remembers how cold her hand had felt in his as she slipped away, never to wake up again.

He remembers how he’d struggled to survive after that; begging for every scrap, stealing what he could, learning tricks to win at the card tables. He remembers asking the older kids to teach him how to fight, remembers how Charon had saved him from some of the tougher ones who had tried to steal his meagre earnings. He remembers the day Charon introduced him to Flea, that Flea had then managed to procure him warmer clothes. He remembers how great a team the three of them had made; a force to be reckoned with despite their obvious youth, surviving by any means necessary, forming a brotherhood that they believed would be unbreakable.

Most of all, he remembers the boy.

The snow had been falling again, and Porthos had been sheltering under a bridge. He remembers the numbness in his fingers, the stiffness in his bones. He remembers the biting chill of the wind and the uncomfortable tightness of too-small boots, remembers seeing the two figures approaching – a boy and his father – and considering how easy it would be to pocket some valuables from them. But then the boy had met his eyes, warm brown meeting stormy blue, and Porthos had merely looked away.

The man had walked by, the boy had not. _You must be cold_ , he had said.

To this day, Porthos remembers it clearly; how the boy had removed his heavy cloak and wrapped it around the shoulders of a stranger, how he had pressed a few coins into filthy hands before he had turned to leave.

_Why?_

It was all Porthos had been able to ask, so taken by surprise, so weakened by the cold and the hunger.

The boy had shrugged, looked back over his shoulder, smiled at him.

_Is it such a crime to show a little kindness?_

From then on, Porthos had tried to show a little more kindness every day, the boy’s words replaying in his head like a mantra. And it felt good to be kind; it had warmed his heart, brought him happiness that he hadn’t felt since his mother had passed. For she had been a kind woman, and she had taught him to love, and to put his heart into everything he might ever do.

In his grief, he had lost sight of that for a while.

He remembers how kindness had eventually led him to Monsieur de Treville, bleeding and broken in the middle of the street, a deep wound in his shoulder and a gash upon his head. He remembers how he had taken the man inside the nearest Court dwelling, how he had bathed his wounds and dressed them as well as he had been able. He remembers how men had come for his patient, and how he had fought them off; how Treville had praised his strength and bravery.

And he remembers the day, barely a week later, when the summons had come. When he had been called to join the famed regiment of the Musketeers.

He remembers all these things as he walks the streets of his youth, as he heads towards the place that he now calls home. For that is what the regiment is – a home and a family. And though the streets may be cold, his world is warm, for it is a world full of love and light and honour.

He hears a cough, stops, looks down. There is a boy at his feet, curled up in a worn blanket, feet bare, shivering in the snow. Porthos frowns, takes the cloak from around his shoulders, wraps it around the boy.

“Why?” the boy rasps, trembling fingers pulling the material tighter around his skinny frame. Porthos smiles as he hands the boy some coin.

“Is it such a crime to show a little kindness?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)
> 
> I'm capitaineathos on tumblr, come say hi! Feedback, prompts and new friends are always appreciated <3


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